L'autre Côté du Miroir
Bellatrix.
I work in a dance club called L'autre Côté du Miroir, The Looking
Glass. I work as a dancer, satisfying the fantasies of the men that come
to the club. The place is rank; smelling of damp tobacco and stale alcohol.
The only sounds are that of the music, and the repetitive calling of the
men. No laughter is ever heard in The Looking Glass.
My name is Bellatrix Lesmorts, and I, like many other porcelain dolls, am a
slave to L'autre Côté du Miroir
xx
"Juan, will you paint me? Burlesque Grotesque starts in five minutes!" I
cried out to the make-up boy, thrusting a box of paint into his hands. He
took a deep red, and I tried not to giggle as his paintbrush tickled my
porcelain lips. He did my eyes in black, painting long eyelashes and violet
in my eyes. I made my appearance on the stage, attracting calls and cheers
from the sweaty, intoxicated men below.
The music began to play, manipulating my movements on the stage. A soldier
was sitting just before the stage, waving a bill in my face. I tucked the
money into my corset, and danced suggestively for the horrid men. The
soldier who had given me the money glared evilly at me with his fading
painted eye. One eye had been pushed out by someone, giving him a
horrible…dead expression. I looked away hurriedly, and continued my dance of
shame.
xx
My shift finished late, and the streets were dark as I made my way home.
Movement felt constricted by my ordinary clothes, as well as my face from
the thick layers of paint. I consciously made my way home, with my night's
earnings concealed in my clothes.
Suddenly, strong hands pulled me into an alleyway. I shrieked with terror
and tried to struggle from his grasp. But my weak porcelain arms were no
match for his strength. I was overpowered and pushed against the wall. My
tears ran over the hand that clasped my mouth shut, as I closed my eyes and
begged for it to end. Suddenly, he stopped. He found the money in my top,
pocketed it, and I fell hopelessly backward onto the floor.
My body had shattered; I lay upon the merciless concrete, in a mess of tears
and shattered porcelain. My face had cracked straight down the middle, and I
was totally helpless. My legs somehow scrambled upright and began to walk
away.
"No, come back!" I cried helplessly, as I watched my frightened legs walk
away from me.
And my life changed for the worst, before my faded, tear-stained eyes.
xx
Glass. I work as a dancer, satisfying the fantasies of the men that come
to the club. The place is rank; smelling of damp tobacco and stale alcohol.
The only sounds are that of the music, and the repetitive calling of the
men. No laughter is ever heard in The Looking Glass.
My name is Bellatrix Lesmorts, and I, like many other porcelain dolls, am a
slave to L'autre Côté du Miroir
xx
"Juan, will you paint me? Burlesque Grotesque starts in five minutes!" I
cried out to the make-up boy, thrusting a box of paint into his hands. He
took a deep red, and I tried not to giggle as his paintbrush tickled my
porcelain lips. He did my eyes in black, painting long eyelashes and violet
in my eyes. I made my appearance on the stage, attracting calls and cheers
from the sweaty, intoxicated men below.
The music began to play, manipulating my movements on the stage. A soldier
was sitting just before the stage, waving a bill in my face. I tucked the
money into my corset, and danced suggestively for the horrid men. The
soldier who had given me the money glared evilly at me with his fading
painted eye. One eye had been pushed out by someone, giving him a
horrible…dead expression. I looked away hurriedly, and continued my dance of
shame.
xx
My shift finished late, and the streets were dark as I made my way home.
Movement felt constricted by my ordinary clothes, as well as my face from
the thick layers of paint. I consciously made my way home, with my night's
earnings concealed in my clothes.
Suddenly, strong hands pulled me into an alleyway. I shrieked with terror
and tried to struggle from his grasp. But my weak porcelain arms were no
match for his strength. I was overpowered and pushed against the wall. My
tears ran over the hand that clasped my mouth shut, as I closed my eyes and
begged for it to end. Suddenly, he stopped. He found the money in my top,
pocketed it, and I fell hopelessly backward onto the floor.
My body had shattered; I lay upon the merciless concrete, in a mess of tears
and shattered porcelain. My face had cracked straight down the middle, and I
was totally helpless. My legs somehow scrambled upright and began to walk
away.
"No, come back!" I cried helplessly, as I watched my frightened legs walk
away from me.
And my life changed for the worst, before my faded, tear-stained eyes.
xx